Bone and Bloodline

The murder was an accident.

Narin didn’t even remember picking up that rock.

He didn’t remember making his arm wind back and shoot forward, or hitting Christian in the head with it so hard that it cracked like thunder when he made contact.

Honest to God he ran to catch him, reaching Christian just after he hit the dirt, dirt so deep and rich that the blood did not show. He had no choice but to drag him into the nearby brush and cover him with leaves, and pray that his mother could help.

He barely felt his feet turn as he ran into the dark forest, barely touching the ground as he flew towards his salvation, an old, leaning house in an overgrown clearing.

The intricately laced fingers of Anho bwa trees parted before him, allowing tiny slivers of light onto his path. As he passed they thickly intertwined making the path of Jab Moun nearly undetectable again.

Jab Moun, creole for “the devil people”, the name the island gave his cursed bloodline behind their backs. The ones they do not buy from or trade with, are you crazy? To you want La Jablesse to come for us?!

And the children would hush up so, obedient and fearful.

No one had lain eyes on her, beautiful La Jablesse, and lived as the story goes. She has a sweet smell and beautiful face, don’t be fooled by it. She will lure you to your death. Do not get close! Do not look down or fall in love, just run! Otherwise you are already doomed.

Fear of death or insanity kept the family path clear, eerie, and peaceful. Today, Narin appreciated it.

It was obeah; something possessed you, boy. It could not be helped, as Mother arranged the herbs and extracts for him to eat. Look so, eat this, turn three times and then rub this here, say a prayer and then shake this on your left side and this will not come back to you. Narin gulped and chewed every word and slept fitfully that night. He woke up in a cold sweat and realized that he would never sleep soundly again.

Like she had predicted, Christian’s body was gone the next morning, and so Narin wasn’t lying when he told Christiana, Christian’s twin sister, that he didn’t know where he was. She collapsed into his arms and his heart thumped deeply. She was so close he could nearly smell her. He kissed her on the cheek and she roughly jerked away, as if by instinct, and he remembered that girls like her don’t marry guys like him.

How did you even get here?

She pointed towards the thin path that cut through the woods, the one barely opened into the clearing where only Jab Moun feet had tread.

I just walked through there, like it was no big deal. Her skin was still as smooth and dark as it ever was, unmarked by the rocky ground or ravenous mosquitos that always seemed to surround his house. Her eyes were bright and surprisingly confident in the face of such grief, and her face was polished and so perfect like an opal stone that the sight of it stole his questions away. Indeed, the thought of any company at all was enough to surprise him into silence.

 

No one ever came to his house. It stood apart from the other homes, rickety and red, large and sturdy for the island.

Your great grandfather built this house with his very hands.

Mother, why is it not closer to town?

Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, boy. And then continued her story as if never interrupted.

You inherited your hands from him. They are working, heavy hands. Strong. It was the truth; his father did have the same hands, weighty and hard and still could be felt across his back for years after his father had died. Hands that could not build, only destroy, hands that he now pulled behind his back in the presence of Christiana.

She was the daughter of a Vieux Fort laborer, who worked for the American soldiers, who spent their extra time in Castries buying booze and dancing and smoking cigarettes. There were rumors that the soldiers liked her father very much, sometimes giving him extra money and work, sometimes giving him clothes and shoes that their children no longer wore and had barely touched to begin with. This is why she looked like a TV star, like the people you see in town. This is why her hands were soft and she wore ready-made clothes, ones not made by Mrs. Porte up the morn. This is why she smelled of soap instead of river like the rest of the schoolchildren, why her teeth sparkled when she talked, and why her dress was a different color every day.

No, girls like Christiana did not date boys like Narin, who smelled like a sheep on his best day, had feet as hard as leather, and who toiled in the ground for his bread. He dreamed day and night, but how would she know that from his dirty face? Yes, he had forgotten all of that before she jerked away.

He had made her a necklace out of the bones of his favorite goat after he and his mother had to kill it for food one night. With the same love that he had cared for his pet he crafted the charms, carefully and slowly, until he felt like he was holding Christiana herself. He had carried it to school the next day and when he saw her, standing a ways off with her back turned to the brush he hastened towards her, holding the necklace in his fist. He was so focused on his mission that he was startled when Christian stepped out in front of him.

Where do you think you’re going, chen?

Narin answered foolishly.

I’m going to tell your sister that I love her, and I’m going to give her this, holding out the boney charm necklace. Seeing it here in the sunlight he was even prouder of his handiwork.

What is this, some obeah charm so that my sister can get fleas, chen? He was laughing so loudly that he was shrieking now. NO! And he knocked the necklace out of Narin’s hands and onto the dusty ground. He lifted his British shoe-clad foot and stomped it down, breaking the bone into almost four pieces before Narin had enough, picked up a rock, and shut Christian up forever.

That night he had carefully pieced it back together when he could not sleep, re-carving pieces that were beyond repair until he could recognize it again, and now he retrieved it from his back pocket handed it over to Christiana after she backed away from his kiss.

For your grief, he said.

She looked at it in silence. In the sunlight it did not look so grand as before.

She quietly took it and left, inspecting it as she walked. Narin turned back into the darkened house and closed the door, ignoring the piercing eyes of his mother watching from the back corner.

Christiana returned much later. I just want to be with someone tonight, and then she kissed him at his front door, and he let her lead him to a quiet place in the yard and held her as she sighed. When she said she missed her brother he could only gulp, and so he was silent until near morning, when she left so quickly he swore he’d dreamt it.

But the next night she was back, lying in his arms again and fingering the charms on the necklace, saying what does this one mean, and this one, is this the time you helped me up after I fell, and is this because I love math and figures so much, and he found the words to answer her in hushed, nervous tones.

She kept coming back, as if she didn’t feel his sweaty palms or hear his tiny voice, or smell the hard work of his day. She kept coming back, night after night, up and down the path of the cursed as if an angel that could not be touched by it.

Yes, maybe she was an angel.

I love you, Christiana.

I love you too, Narin, and even though that was impossible, he believed her.

Can I kiss you he asked next, and the rest of the night floated by.

You should not have given her that charm, Narin; the shiny eyes in the corner said.

You are paranoid. Nothing will happen.

Coojun, stop acting stupid. Nothing good can come from your hands. It’s our mark, and then his mother turned over on her palette and sighed.

Our mark for what, mother.

She rolled back over and sat up, then stood, until she was eye level with his heaving face.

Have I really never told you?

Why do you think we rot away in the forest, barely eating our dying food, killing animals before they bear offspring?

Why does the rain wash away all the seeds you plant and disease all the animals you farm?

With his cursed hands his damned us, to this house, to this clearing, beam by beam! And now you takin’ on this one, why this girl? You ever even look at her face, boy? Smell her? Recognize her?

What are you talking about, crazy woman?

I AM NOT CRAZY!

Her eyes were large now.

He was so greedy, one woman was not enough for him, your fuggin’ father’s father, and he had to love her, trick her, and leave her. La Jablesse could protect him, ha! If only! Now she hunts us!

That’s impossible.

Mother stood taller than she ever had, breathing heavily with anger, raising her weathered fist and banging it on the worn table, the only piece of furniture in the house.

NO! I cannot lie about this one, child. He would leave in the night and bring her chickens and frogs, and she would change into a beautiful woman in the moonlight. She did not kill him like the rest of her kind. She would take the gifts and then kiss him and they would roam the night together. Every night, I swear, as your horrible father told me. What a greedy, greedy man.

He would not leave his family for her or her for them but hoarded them like a greedy rat. Who could stand that for that? The day she turned to kill him he lit a cigar and wrapped those lead hands around her neck, and strangled her until she kicked no more. He dropped her body where she stood, the stupid man, La Jablesse cannot die.

She isn’t real Mom.

Hush your lying mouth! She is real and she cannot forget. You cannot forget, you descendant of shit, cursed hands that tear apart all you touch! Have you even looked in her eyes? Can you not see her!?

NO! I am NOT like my father you selfish liar!

You are so blind, boy.

With rage and love, indeed he was.

I will not stay here! Christiana has asked me to go and I will go with her and leave you in this miserable house! All day you cry and wail to no one who wants to hear you! Do you think I want to hear you, old woman, you witch? Can your herbs and potions heal your lying tongue? Count the minutes from now, I will leave your presence and you will tell stories of how your lies drove your family away. Count the seconds! You will never see me again!

Mother grew silent, began to step back into her corner, and soon was a floating pair of eyes again.

She knew something.

I suppose I won’t, ish mwe, my child. Then she curled into a lump and didn’t speak anymore.

Something she was not going to share.

It was just as well. Tonight was the night. He had stayed home from school that day to prepare for it.

He had been in his room, hiding from his mother who spent her days in the garden, crafting a ring out of the same goat bone, working carefully at every detail. He imagined it was her and he fell in love with it; smoothing away any edge, kissing away the dust, staring at it’s perfect for long minutes at a time.

Each etching, each seemingly meaningless design was her.

The curve here is her spine.

This one, her smile.

This spring? That is her hair when she’s been swimming, and this circle her bright, clear eyes. She will understand.

They met that night, in the moonlight, on the other side of the forest.

Why was she so far away?

Come closer, my love! He could see her bags with her. He was going to give her the ring and explain everything. She would love his honesty. She would look at the symbols on the ring and cry at its tenderness.

He would place it on her finger and kiss her hand on his knees.

Her love for his would be stronger than ever.

Mother would be wrong. For the first time and last time, she would be wrong.

Oh Christiana, how is it that you seem even more beautiful than before?

Come to me, I want to hold you! I can see your arms outstretched.

I can smell you.

I can taste you in the air.

I can see your perfect face, how beautiful you are in moonlight!

Are you smiling for me, Christiana?

Why does your smile twist tonight? And your hug, so firm, and your smell, so thick and sweet?

I can feel your heartbeat, can you feel mine? It’s going to fast like it wants to leave my chest!

Let me show you something that will make your heart fly.

Will you let me reach my pocket?

Will you speak to me? You don’t even whisper tonight…have you changed your mind?

Do you not want me, Christiana?

And a nervous pause. Then.

Do you still love me?

 

What was this sudden chill that ran from hands to his trembling chest?

Who laughing behind him, a loud, mocking laugh piercing the silence?

What is it the island people say?

Don’t look down or fall in love, or you are already doomed.

Christiana?

…

Christian?

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Then deafening, heavy silence.

And then, a frighteningly familiar voice vibrating thorough the lonely air around them,

No one could ever love you, chen.

 

as the knife passed through his heart.